


Grumpy Old Lords

by PrettyThief



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Arranged Marriage, Crack, Declarations Of Love, F/M, First Kiss, Grumpy Old Men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-26 19:20:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21853744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrettyThief/pseuds/PrettyThief
Summary: Tywin and Selwyn meet under scandalous circumstances, and end the night agreeing to marry their children. Neither expected their children, longtime rivals, to actually fall in love.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 27
Kudos: 241





	Grumpy Old Lords

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Samirant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samirant/gifts).



> This is just... It's absolutely ridiculous. Thanks to [samirant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samirant/) and [motherfaerie](https://motherfaerie.tumblr.com/) for suggesting my weird [one-sentence headcanon](https://pretty--thief.tumblr.com/post/189682411789/insomnia-thoughts-i-wonder-if-selwyn-and-tywin) become a full-length story. Not beta read and tbh, barely edited. Oops.

“Ah, Selwyn … and _friend_. I had thought my son had neglected to grant you a plus one on your invitation. How _delightful_ that I seem to have been mistaken.”

“Tywin, meet Roslin. She’s my girlfriend!” Selwyn beamed at the young woman on his arm, but his blue eyes glinted mischievously when he glanced back at Tywin.

“Yes, a fact I’m sure no one has missed.”

All pretenses dropped along with Selwyn’s smile. “You’re lucky we bothered to show up at all, Lannister, you old bastard.”

“Interesting choice of words, present company considered.”

Selwyn Tarth’s shadow loomed over Tywin Lannister then, his fists clenched at his sides. Tywin peered up at him with bored green eyes.

The senator of the Westerlands took a sip from the gilded goblet he held in one hand, never breaking eye contact. His next words were a stern whisper. “Lannisters do not associate with such people so brazenly. You will find accommodations for your whore and then return to your duties. Is it really so difficult?”

Selwyn laughed mockingly. “Do you need reminding, _my lord_ , of where we met?”

Tywin’s eyes narrowed. “Why I _ever_ bothered with this arrangement with a _Tarth_ is beyond all comprehension.”

From his place at the table behind the battle of the old and mad, Jaime pinched the bridge of his nose and shut his eyes. He had not imagined his engagement party would unfold quite like this. In fact, he had not much imagined an engagement party before this one had been thrust upon him. But he was a Lannister, his political career was taking off—though perhaps not within the party his father had hoped, and it had been implied for the entirety of his life that he would make a bid for president.

~

“You will need a wife,” Tywin said, nearly a decade earlier back at Casterly Rock. “You cannot continue to reject every prospect I lay before you.”

“I’m not marrying Lysa Tully,” Jaime insisted, tapping a finger on the heavy oak table with each syllable. “I’m fairly certain she would have me murdered before being pried away from Petyr Baelish.”

“Who?”

“Petyr Baelish, personal assistant for her father at Riverrun—”

Tywin waved his hand and continued pacing the stone floor. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. What matters, my son, is that you must wed, and you must wed _correctly_. Hoster Tully is of the proper lineage, he supports the proper political party, and his daughters have not been the subject of scandal.”

Jaime scoffed. “I realize this thwarts whatever lofty goals you have for my life, but I’m putting my foot down on this. I will not marry Lysa Tully. Not for my career, not for the family, not for _you_.”

~

Tywin had not liked that answer, but he had not been put off by Jaime’s rebuffs. After Lysa had come Arianne and then Taena after her. Jaime had had not necessarily disliked either woman and they had both seemed genuinely interested in him. It had almost been _because_ each woman had seemed to like him that Jaime had refused them, too. They deserved better than a man who could never love him.

But Brienne Tarth…

Jaime glanced up from his table, where he sat alone toying with the gold-plated napkin ring in front of him. His betrothed was near the back of the ballroom, talking quietly with her friend Shireen and a sad look upon her face. Her eyes flitted toward him for but a second before she dropped them again, shaking her head to Shireen. Jaime wondered what he had done to earn her disappointment now.

~

“You don’t have to do this,” he told her before he had proposed two months earlier.

“It’s what my father wants.” There was a resolution in her eyes that he recognized from their time spent across opposite ends of the court room. The knot in the pit of his stomach that it gave him was wholly unfamiliar, however.

He chuckled, squeezing her shoulder. A tiny wave of relief washed over him when she did not remove his hand. “Our fathers are _insane_. We shouldn’t be beholden to promises made between two lecherous geriatrics in a strip club.”

Her eyes widened. “You _knew_ —”

“Don’t tell Tyrion. It would spoil his image of our dear doting dad.”

She rolled her eyes at him then, a smile just perceptible on her overly plump lips. “I can’t believe he told you.”

“Oh, he didn’t. I’m fairly certain they believe no one knows.” Jaime frowned. Sitting on the park bench next to his old work rival—the sun draped across their shoulders and the warm summer breeze in their hair—it felt good, surprisingly so. He had never expected to come to sort of like her, had only agreed to their father’s schemes to rile her. But now— _now_ —

“I know this isn’t the fairytale you’ve no doubt always dreamed of—” she blushed, “—but I think we could be good to one another. Maybe you think that’s a completely ridiculous idea, and if you do, please tell me now.”

It took a moment, but she shook her head just slightly, not meeting his eyes.

Jaime inhaled deeply. He had known she wouldn’t want a grand gesture, not from him. But she would still want to be asked—she deserved to be asked. He hopped off the park bench and lowered himself to one knee, fishing the velvety box from the pocket of his jeans.

“Brienne. We live in truly inexplicable times.” He grinned when she rolled her eyes, then carried on dramatically, “I was but a corporate attorney you could not stand, and you the spunky public defender with a heart of gold. Our fathers both politicians from opposite sides of the political spectrum. Now look at us! Perfectly adequate friends who have been persuaded to marry! If you’ll have me. It’s very important that you _agree_ to have me.”

“No,” came a sharp voice to Jaime’s right, on the other side of a wall that separated the grounds of the park from its public gardens. “It is _not_ important.”

“Oh for the gods’ sake…” Jaime mumbled, standing up again. Brienne joined him as they watched Tywin Lannister stroll around the end of the wall, straightening the tie on his crisp black suit. “Why are you here?”

Tywin stopped before his son, his cold green eyes traveling from his feet back to his eyes with an apparent condescension. “I followed you.” His words were crisp and matter-of-fact, as though he were reporting the weather.

“And I tried to stop him, but he’s a right old dickhead who only thinks of himself.”

It was Brienne’s turn to groan as Selwyn Tarth came jogging forward, his cheeks rosy from the exercise.

“You did not have to do that,” she mumbled.

“Tarth,” said Tywin, “my son was just _proposing_ to your daughter. Is that what you want?”

“Is that— _are you insane_? Of course that’s what I want!”

Tywin’s lip curled. “Proposing implies that there is a decision to be made.” He faced Brienne and Jaime then. “Has a decision not already been made?”

“Well…” began Brienne nervously.

“Don’t answer that,” Jaime cautioned, but he had known then that their moment was over.

~

She deserved better in every sense of the term. Even now, months later, Jaime continued to despair that he had not been able to properly ask her to marry him. Their fathers were constantly in the way, even Selwyn who seemed to think he was helpful.

He was glad for now that they had decided to move their bickering to a different part of the room.

“Well,” came a voice dripping with sarcasm from behind him, “this is highly embarrassing, wouldn’t you say?”

Jaime turned his head and grimaced at his little brother, barely reaching his elbow even while he was seated. “Why is it always like this?”

Tyrion climbed onto the chair next to Jaime, shrugging. “They’re very similar, aren’t they?” Jaime followed Tyrion’s mismatched gaze in the direction of his and Brienne’s fathers, still bickering but at least in a corner where no one could hear them. “Do you think they’ve fucked any of the same strippers?” his brother asked conversationally, taking a sip from his goblet.

Jaime groaned, pressing his fingers to his temples. “Why would you make me think about _that_?”

“It’s got to be better than thinking about your upcoming nuptials.”

Jaime looked back toward Brienne, still in conversation with Shireen though she looked rather pained. “Far from it,” he mumbled.

Tyrion’s eyebrows shot up and his head cocked to one side. “You’ve barely mentioned how you truly feel to me, brother. She’s no Arianne Martell or Taena Merryweather.”

“No,” replied Jaime softly, “she isn’t.”

“You’re _smiling_!”

“What? Am I?” He was, and he knew it. It made no sense, and he knew it was entirely one-sided; Brienne had grown to tolerate him, perhaps even occasionally enjoy his company. But Jaime—Jaime had been shocked, appalled, frustrated, and completely, _terribly_ overjoyed the day that he had realized he was in love with her.

It had not been a grand moment, but the smallest of occasions.

~

“Thanks for coming,” he said, opening the door with immense gratitude.

“Absolutely. Where are they?”

Jaime ushered Brienne in, nodding towards his guest bedroom. “It’s all three of them.”

She gave him a sympathetic smile along with her coat. “When was the last time you slept?”

He chuckled. “Let’s see. When did Cersei drop them off? A week ago? Two days after that.”

“Leave it to me,” she said, and he collapsed into the couch.

“Alright!” he had heard her shout, clapping her hands together in the next room as his niece and nephews moaned. “Here’s what we’re going to do. Joffrey, I _know_ you’re faking and you need to help your uncle or I will personally see to it that your father finds out about the weed you presently reek of. Myrcella, Tommen, you’re going to tell me your favorite kind of soup and then we’re going to take turns in the bath.”

Jaime curled up on his couch, listening to his—his girlfriend? His betrothed? _Whatever she was_ —corral Cersei’s flu-ridden children. Cersei and Robert were absent parents at best and Jaime had personally never had it in him to crack the whip on them. He much preferred to act as the indulgent uncle who took them for ice cream too often, who had adopted a stray cat specifically for their routine visits.

By the time the children were clean, fed, and settled, Jaime was barely hanging onto wakefulness on his sofa. He felt Brienne sink down next to him.

“You’re kind of cute when you sleep,” she murmured after she had sat there for a while.

He continued to pretend to be asleep, certain that he was not meant to hear that comment. Another moment passed, and then she was covering him with a blanket and removing his shoes.

“Good night, Jaime,” she whispered as she moved to the recliner for the night.

Before Jaime fell into the deepest of sleep, his last thoughts were of how no one had ever been so gentle with him. When he had awoken in the morning, he knew beyond all doubt that he wanted to fall asleep in the same room as Brienne Tarth for the rest of his life.

~

“Do you _like_ Brienne, Jaime?” Tyrion teased, peering at him over the top of his goblet.

Jaime shifted his eyes to his brother, opening his mouth to speak but finding that words failed him.

“Smiling _and_ speechless! What has this woman done with Jaime Lannister?”

Before Jaime could say another word, there was a commotion at the other end of the room.

“You cannot say that about my daughter, you dried up old _prune_!”

“Prune, Selwyn? Your creativity has begun to falter, I fear.”

Jaime stood so quickly his chair clattered to the floor behind him.

“Just because no one will ever look at you the way he looks at her—”

“My son is dutiful. He does what is _expected_ of him, no more or less. _You need to be quiet_.”

Jaime’s feet were moving without conscious thought, his eyes trained upon on his father.

“I most certainly will not be quiet! This is their engagement party, Lannister! Of all places to say such a thing.”

Jaime was upon them, looking from Selwyn to Tywin and back again. “What did you say?” he hissed.

Tywin gave him an all-to-familiar once-over. “Jaime. I trust you are enjoying your evening?”

“What. Did you. _Say_?”

Selwyn had placed a hand on Jaime’s arm. “Oh _Jaime,_ it’s nothing you’d want to hear. Your father’s just an _asshole_.”

Tywin narrowed his eyes, scanning the room, which had gone silent. “You’re still going to marry the girl, correct?”

“Of course I’m going to marry her,” he replied suspiciously.

“Then perhaps,” said Tywin, his voice growing louder and firmer, “you should stop sulking as though the world has ended!”

Jaime flinched as though his father had struck him.

“Jaime,” came Brienne’s voice, soft, behind him, “you don’t have to do this.”

He spun around to face her, recognizing his own words thrown back at him. _What the hell is wrong with everyone?_

“I want to do this.”

He could see in the way she worked at her lip with her teeth that she was nervous, but she maintained eye contact. “Do you? Because I—Shireen says I should just be honest with you.”

“Honest?”

“About how I feel. I—” she faltered then, a blush creeping up her pale, freckled neck as she hung her head. Jaime could feel the room watching, could feel their fathers watching.

“I love you,” he said firmly, before she could strangle on her words any further. He took a step toward her, placing his hand on her cheek. “Listen to me. _I love you_.”

She lifted her head and looked at him as though seeing him for the first time, eyes wide and glistening with unshed tears, misty and blue as the sea.

“See! He loves her! So shove _that_ where you like!”

“Would you _please_ keep your voice down, you old fool of a Tarth?”

Jaime ignored them, smiling wide and wondering why he had not done this before. He brought his lips up to meet hers, firm but yielding as every bit of her had always been. In the responsive movements of her lips against his, Jaime could feel how wrong he had been.

She loved him too.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure at what point in the process I imagined the Lannisters as the Kennedy family from the US, and Jaime a JFK stand-in, but that's what my fingers decided to type. Hope this was somewhat enjoyable!


End file.
